


in the dark I called out for you (you see, you are my light)

by Withstarryeyes



Series: Precipitation Series [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Akaashi pov, Anxious Akaashi Keiji, Bathing/Washing, Bokuto Koutarou Being Bokuto Koutarou, Boys In Love, Caring, Confessions, Delirious Bokuto, Delirium, Dizziness, Fever, Fluff, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Insecure Akaashi Keiji, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pining, Rain, Sick Bokuto Koutarou, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tenderness, Third-person, Training Camp, Whump, caring akaashi keiji, sick bokuto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: It’s with his back turned that he misses it, the small waver of a strong body, the slight tilt to the side. He hears a crash, knees hitting the court, and he startles, for a second mistaking it for thunder. But the skies outside, while overcast, are dry. He doesn’t even think to turn around until he hears the garbled shouts of a name from his teammates, “Bokuto,” they all cry, as if in a single unanimous question.Akaashi spins around then, dropping his bottle. Bokuto has fallen, knees on the ground and hands wrapped around his head. He’s trembling and Akaashi places his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders, feeling the tensed muscle there. “What’s wrong?” he asks, barely registering his own words because it’s Bokuto. Bokuto who has fallen and isn’t getting up.Or...Bokuto falls sick during Training Camp. Akaashi cares for him, in more ways than one.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Precipitation Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076363
Comments: 25
Kudos: 223
Collections: Owls in love





	in the dark I called out for you (you see, you are my light)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my best friend Ari for beta-reading <3

Akaashi has always known Bokuto was a force. He spikes and spikes and spikes, until Akaashi’s head spins from setting. He whines in the interim, while Akaashi is catching his breath, handing him a water bottle with shining eyes and a determination that Akkaashi admires. 

The thing about forces is not that they end. It’s that they change, they bloom big and crash into something small. They break themselves apart into smaller pieces until they’re a fraction of what they were, then build themselves up again. 

Two days ago, it rained and the humidity has been building itself up since. Akaashi can feel it on his skin, feel the air like hands around his wrists, feel it thicken the air in his lungs. The whole gym registers what it means, the heavy winds outside and crackled air. There’s a storm coming, and soon. Akaashi just hopes they’re not here when it hits. 

Akaashi pants as he sucks his water bottle dry, rolling his eyes over the gym. Nekoma is finishing up a 3x3 in the corner. Lev’s getting better, stopping more balls from hitting the course but he’s still sloppy. Akaashi catches the small pleased smile on Yaku’s face anyway. Karasuno is practicing their combinations. Hinata jumps in the air, hand ready to spike and Akaashi watches Kageyama set the ball, elbows working as if they have a mind of their own. The set is perfect, of course it is, and Akaashi is glad that Kageyama went to Karasuno instead of Fukurodani. 

It’s with his back turned that he misses it, the small waver of a strong body, the slight tilt to the side. He hears a crash, knees hitting the court, and he startles, for a second mistaking it for thunder. But the skies outside, while overcast, are dry. He doesn’t even think to turn around until he hears the garbled shouts of a name from his teammates, “Bokuto,” they all cry, as if in a single unanimous question. 

Akaashi spins around then, dropping his bottle. Bokuto has fallen, knees on the ground and hands wrapped around his head. He’s trembling and Akaashi places his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders, feeling the tensed muscle there. “What’s wrong?” he asks, barely registering his own words because it’s  _ Bokuto _ . Bokuto who has fallen and isn’t getting up. 

“Did anyone see what happened?” He asks more broadly then, but his eyes don’t leave his captain. 

“He just toppled,” Komi supplies. 

Akaashi nods, keeping his face neutral. He can’t afford to panic. Can’t afford to show anything but composure. He moves to crouch in front of Bokuto, wrapping his small hands around Bokuto’s forearms. He hasn’t opened his eyes and Akaashi feels himself begin to crack, the panic almost overwhelming. “Bokuto? What’s wrong?”

It takes a moment but Bokuto blinks open his eyes, their color darker than usual, a raw honey rather than bright amber. Akaashi feels something in his heart tug and he scoots even closer. “”M dizzy, ‘Kaashi,” he says, voice pitched low. Akaashi feels his pulse pick up, thumping in his extremities. 

The other teams have noticed something is wrong at this point, pivoting their gaze to them. Akaashi wants to glare, wants to shout at them to go away, but Bokuto has all his focus and he’s not willing to part a second of his attention. Someone must do it anyway because Akaashi hears a low rumble and then the slow start of a dozen volleyball games. A hand comes down on his own shoulder and Akaashi bows his head. Kuroo, of course. 

“Hey Kou? Can you talk to us?”

Bokuto lifts a little at the nickname, flicking his gaze from Akaashi to Kuroo and back. “I don’t feel good,” he slurs. Akaashi feels that wave of panic rise but he keeps it back, keeps it off his face. Bokuto needs him now, needs him to be the vice-captain, to be his friend, to be what Bokuto himself can’t be. “‘Kaashi, I don’t feel good.”

Bokuto’s head is a warm weight against Akaashi’s chest, lolling forward into the crook of his collarbone. Akaashi’s hands are trapped between Bokuto’s chest and his own, still wrapped around the spiker’s forearms. Akaashi looks at Kuroo owlishly, concern bleeding just a little into his expression. 

“We should get him up,” Kuroo says. Akaashi just nods, beginning to rise. But Bokuto is not easy to move. Especially not for Akaashi, who is leaner than him and with less muscle. His legs threaten to buckle under the heavy weight of Bokuto but Kuroo is behind him, arms around Bokuto’s middle, and he helps. 

They wind out of the gym and down to the small room where the futons are laid out. Kuroo has taken most of the weight at this point, but Bokuto hasn’t resurfaced from Akaashi’s chest, and he’s unwilling to move him. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Akaashi says, more to himself than Kuroo. Kuroo stops nevertheless, hands clutched in a blanket, readying a futon for Bokuto. 

“He was looking a little off when you guys got here, but I thought it might just be his excitement.”

Akaashi sighs, leaning over to place Bokuto in the newly un-made futon. “He didn’t sleep well the night before but he slept a little on the bus.” He goes to pull away but Bokuto has wrapped his own hands onto Akaashi’s, letting out a little whine and pulling Akaashi toward him. “I should have been watching him,” Akaashi’s voice has gone quiet. Kuroo taps him on the shoulder. 

“You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s my job to know.” Akaashi gives up trying to pull away and lets Bokuto pull him into him. He’s too warm, and Akaashi instantly feels too sweaty and overcrowded but he lets Bokuto nuzzle into him anyway. 

“Hey Kou?” His face rises to Kuroo. Kuroo runs a hand through Bokuto’s hair, the touch gentle. “Do you think you could handle some meds?”

Bokuto shakes his head, tickling Akaashi’s collarbone with his hair. Immediately, Akaashi moves to sink one of his hands into it, weaving through the soft strands. “It would help you feel better.”

Bokuto whines, “I hate the taste of them.”

Akaashi laughs, “It’ll only taste bad for a second. Kuroo’ll hand you some water right after.”

“Do I have to?” Bokuto asks, the fight already gone from his voice. 

“It would make me feel better,” Akaashi says. Bokuto has begun to nuzzle into Akaashi’s hand, nose pressing into the pulse point on the inside of Akaashi’s wrist. From here Akaashi can feel how unnaturally warm Bokuto is. 

“Alright,” Bokuto concedes. Akaashi stops Kuroo before he leaves, asking him to grab a thermometer. The Nekoma setter nods and then he’s gone, leaving Akaashi with Bokuto in the small room. 

“You scared me,” Akaashi admits after a moment, breaking the quiet. It’s unnatural, how still Bokuto can be. How still Bokuto was when he fell. Akaashi is still replaying the moment, the loud noise, the hushed gasps of Bokuto’s name. How could he have missed it? How could he not have known Boktuo wasn’t feeling well this morning? How could he have let him play?

“I’m sorry,” the voice is soft, Bokuto’s mouth so close that Akaashi can feel the warm breath on his wrist. “Wanted to play. Wanted to be good,” he says, “for you.”

_ You’re always good for me,  _ Akaashi thinks. He doesn’t say it. Instead he presses inward, crowding Bokuto, letting the man pull him even tighter. They’ve never defined this, never set boundaries or labels or rules. Akaashi knows they’re a little past friends, reaching into unknown territory. But he’s never asked, and he’s not going to. He doesn’t want to assume wrong. Bokuto may think Akaashi is strong but he’s not, he’s weak. If he ever...if Bokuto didn’t want him, Akaashi isn’t sure what he would do. 

Akaashi untangles himself when Kuroo comes back. He pours out a serving of medicine, his back turned as Kuroo hauls Bokuto up to take his temperature. The windows have begun to mist over and he watches as the water chases itself down the pane. 

“I talked to your coach,” Kuroo says, suddenly behind him. Akaashi realizes he’s poured out three times the dose he needs. He sighs and tilts it back into the bottle. 

“Is he going to send Bokuto home?”

“They’re closing the roads, flood risk. He’s stuck here with us unless he gets bad enough for an ambulance.”

Akaashi feels that crushing panic again. It squeezes in his chest, sends his blood racing to his cheeks. His hands tremble and he clutches the edge of the table to stop it. “What’s his fever at?”

“38.5,” Kuroo answers. Outside the skies finally open up, rain splattering onto the sidewalk in fat drops. 

Akaashi swallows, bows his head, takes the medicine cup and rouses Bokuto to get him to drink. As predicted, Kuroo shoves water into Bokuto’s hands the second he’s finished drinking. 

Akaashi watches as Bokuto falls asleep. Watches his face smooth out, eyebrows still a little creased. A drop of sweat races down the line of Bokuto’s forehead and Akaashi palms it, rooting his hand in the hair there. 

Kuroo clears his throat, crouching just off to the side. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi agrees. Lightning strikes, and thunder rumbles not a few moments after. “Fine, it’ll be fine.”

He falls asleep there, in Bokuto’s arms, dreams floating hazily like the glow of a burning candle. When he wakes he’s hot and confused, not accustomed to sleeping in the middle of the day. It’s still raining, water pounding against the street and building in thick sheets. Kuroo is nowhere to be found. 

He shifts to sit up, peering down at Bokuto. His hair is slicked back now with sweat, eyelashes soft against damp skin. Akaashi runs a hand down the plane of Bokuto’s face, feeling the heat there. He needs to get some liquid into him. 

There’s a vending machine out in the hall so Akaashi stands, padding out into the brightly lit area. He squints his eyes as he walks and leans against the machine, waiting for it to spit out a bottle of water and a can of coffee.

It’s impossible to tell what time it is, outside a dark mass of swirling clouds. Akaashi finds that he doesn’t mind it. There are noises coming from the room when he walks back, moaning, groans, little scared huffs. He picks up the pace, turning into the room. He’s not sure what he expected to find, what he expected to see. But it wasn’t Bokuto curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his legs. It wasn’t Bokuto being haunted from the inside out. 

Akaashi sets the can of coffee and water on a nearby table, sitting gently on the futon by Bokuto. He doesn’t know what to do, where to touch. Bokuto lets out a low whine and Akaashi feels his heartbreak into pieces. 

“Bokuto, Bokuto-kun, it’s time to wake up,” Akaashi says. His voice holds no authority. 

Bokuto squirms, and Akaashi finally breaks, wrapping his hands around Bokuto’s strong arms. They burn like brands against his palms. “Christ,” he moans. Where is Kuroo? The coach? Where is their team?

Akaashi is just about to pull away to find his phone when Bokuto speaks again, the voice so small and hushed, “‘Keiji.”

Akaashi feels his breath leave him. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

“Keiji.” Bokuto is distressed now, writhing on the futon. It’s then that Akaashi realizes Bokuto is still dreaming, calling out for him while asleep. “Keiji, no, Keiji, no!” 

Tears are streaming down Bokuto’s cheeks. Akaashi crawls forward on his knees, draping himself over the trembling boy. “I’m right here, Kou. I’m right here.” He rocks forward, backward, holding Bokuto and feeling the boy’s strong heartbeat through his back. 

Bokuto keeps whining, “Keiji, Keiji, Keiji.” Akaashi’s name seeps from his lips over and over again in a sickening moan. Akaashi doesn’t know what to do, how to help him. 

The one lamp in the room flickers, then goes out, plunging Akaashi into complete darkness. Akaashi shuts his eyes, pressing even closer to Bokuto. “Shh, Kou, I’m here. Please, I’m here for you.”

Akaashi doesn’t know how long he sits there, wrapped around a burning body. Hearing his name echoing around the room, echoing around his mind. He’s shaking too, he thinks, his hands the only things steady, wrapped around Bokuto’s forearms. He’s mumbling too, soothing things, he thinks. That he’s there. That he’s got him. That he loves Bokuto. Eventually someone comes, Akaashi can hear their footsteps in the hallway, rushed, frantic. 

He lifts his head as Kuroo enters panting. He’s drenched, dripping water from his hair and clothes. “The power went out,” Kuroo says, before he seems to register Bokuto’s under him.“What happened?” 

Akaashi knows that Kuroo isn’t blaming him, isn’t trying to be accusatory but Akaashi feels powerless, has felt powerless since the moment Bokuto touched the gym floor and didn’t get back up. “I don’t know, I can’t calm him down,” he gets out barely before he breaks, tears cresting down his own cheeks. “He keeps calling for me and I can’t help him,” Akaashi says on a sob. 

Kuroo moves in an instant, pressing a hand between Akaashi’s shoulder blades, “Hey, hey it’s okay.”

“He’s burning up and I can’t--I can’t do this. I can’t help him. I couldn’t even get my phone to text you.”

“Akaashi, it’s okay! You’re helping, can’t you see?”

Akaashi opens his eyes, looking at Bokuto, who has stopped shaking under him. His breathing has evened out too. He’s no longer crying out Keiji’s name. “He’s still too warm.”

Kuroo presses a damp palm to the back of Bokuto’s neck and winces. “We’ll need to check it. But even if it’s high there’s no way to get an ambulance here. The storm’s blocked off the main road. They’re working to open it back up, but they don’t think it’ll get done tonight.”

“What do we do?” Akaashi asks. Kuroo looks up at him, running a hand through his hair. 

“You should go fetch your coach, I can take his temperature while you’re gone.”

Akaashi nods. He doesn’t want to part from Bokuto, doesn’t want to stop holding him, but he needs help and he needs space, space from his name coming out of Bokuto’s lips, space from his name causing Bokuto so much pain. 

“Gimme your phone,” Akaashi says, “I don’t know where mine is and it’s too dark to see without a flashlight.”

Kuroo nods, handing it over. “Ukai and Takeda were looking into getting the back-up generators working when I left.”

Akaashi doesn’t ask why Kuroo left, just as Kuroo didn’t ask Akaashi why he had stayed with Bokuto. 

“Ten minutes, I’ll be back,” Akaashi promises. He doesn’t look at Bokuto before he leaves. 

Bokuto’s fever is up a degree, too hot. Akaashi tries not to feel like it's his fault. Tries not to internalize it, but he was the one staying with Bokuto, the one that fell asleep instead of watching over. Akaashi volunteers when their coach says that someone has to stay with him. 

“Are you sure, Akaashi? You’ve already missed one day of training.”

Akaashi bites his bottom lip and nods, eyes downcast. His coach nods as well. 

They move the rest of the futons in an extra empty room, better to keep Bokuto where he is. Akaashi sits by his side and watches the rain fall outside. He doesn’t look at Bokuto’s face, doesn’t look at the evidence of his neglect. He wraps his hand around Bokuto’s, smiling when Bokuto squeezes his fingers. He’s in a half-state of awareness. Groggy and not completely lucid. Their coach had made him sit up to take his temperature again and to take some pills. Bokuto had been pliant, loose. Akaashi hasn’t heard him yell in eight hours and the silence is beginning to take its toll. 

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice is shot, scratchy and barely there. But Akaashi hears it, turns his head to it, and catches a small one of Bokuto’s smiles before it lapses into something watery. “Are you mad at me?”

Akaashi frowns and Bokuto shrinks back, removing his fingers from Akaashi’s grasp. Akaashi feels the loss immensely. “No, Bokuto, I’m not. Why?”

Bokuto frowns as if he thinks that’s a stupid question. “You had to miss practice for me, and you’ve had to take care of me all day.”

Akaashi watches Bokuto’s eyebrows as he talks. Nobody ever describes Bokuto by his eyebrows but they’re so expressive. Akaashi thinks that he could follow a whole conversation just by the movement of Bokuto’s brows. He swallows and looks away, fingering instead at the blanket. “I don’t really mind. I want to be here with you.”

Akaashi expects a response to that, but when he looks back up Bokuto has lapsed back into sleep. Akaashi picks Bokuto’s hand back up and rubs a thumb across his knuckles, hoping it brings a little comfort to him even in slumber. 

He doesn’t fall asleep this time, can’t bring himself to close his burning eyes and give in. He keeps replaying waking up to Bokuto saying his name, to Bokuto a furnace himself. He makes himself a cup of tea instead and puts on a sweatshirt, looking out the window. Belatedly, he realizes it might be nice to listen to something so he digs out his headphones to play an audiobook. The rain hasn’t stopped, and Akaashi listens to the thunder and crash of rain as he presses himself against the wall, facing Bokuto. 

Ukai and Takeda must have gotten the back-up generator up because there’s light in the hallway and the small lamp in the corner of the room had turned on not long after their coach had come up. Akaashi kinda wishes it was still dark, wishes he could curl up and forget himself. 

Akaashi hasn’t had many opportunities to watch Bokuto as openly as this. To watch him twitch and mutter in his sleep. It makes him want to do things he’s repressed for so long. Like press a hand into the creases in Bokuto’s cheeks where the blankets had imprinted, or curl up in the small space in Bokuto’s front and let Bokuto wrap his arms around him. 

He turns the audiobook up instead and drains his tea, curls the cord of his headphones around his finger and shuts his eyes. 

He startles when thunder comes crashing down, shaking the whole building. Akaashi sits up, spinning to stare at the window above his head. The trees are bending with wind. Bokuto whines where he is and Akaashi scrambles over to him, pressing a hand into his back. He’s warm, too warm, and Akaashi shakes him, trying to wake him. Bokuto’s eyes remain stubbornly closed. 

He rips out his headphones. “Bokuto,” he says, not too quietly. Bokuto twitches but doesn’t awaken. 

Akaashi stands, tripping over his feet for the thermometer. After a moment, the thermometer beeps and a red 40 blinks traitorously up at him. Akaashi feels something terrible twist inside him, gripping his lungs and squeezing. Why did he offer to stay? Why couldn’t he just keep Bokuto safe? 

There’s nothing in the room to cool down Bokuto with, no tap or cloths. But Akaashi knows the fever is dangerous now, too high and not coming down. It’s too early to placate it with meds and Akaashi isn’t sure where anybody else is at this point. Sleeping down the hall probably, but Akaashi doesn’t want to leave Bokuto long enough to find out. 

“Bokuto,” he prods him, hard enough that Bokuto rolls forward a little bit before settling. “Bokuto, please, I need you to wake up.”

Bokuto doesn’t. Akaashi curses deeply, pressing his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He needs to get Bokuto over to the baths, needs to lift and carry him almost 6 meters. He’ll do it, Akaashi knows, staring at the deep flush on Bokuto’s cheeks, remembering that 40 degrees, red and too bright in the dim room. 

He gets himself under Bokuto’s chest and lifts, shuffling him to lay like a sack of potatoes over one shoulder. His legs almost give out from under him when he tries to stand, but Akaashi steadies himself with a palm on the ground and grits his teeth. He stays upright on another try and begins to move. 

It’s not graceful. Akaashi is under no delusion that he could do this on a regular basis and he almost drops Bokuto several times, but he makes it to the small tiled room eventually. He sets Bokuto up against the counter, he’s woken up now, eyes bleary and slow to blink. 

“Keiji?” The use of Akaashi’s given name makes him want to cry. He stops at the faucet, turning to his best friend in the entire world. Turning to the one person that Akaashi would do anything for, and not ask for anything back. 

“Yes, Kou?” He’s not sure why it comes so easy to call Bokuto this when it’s the quiet of the night, or when Kou is delirious. Maybe it’s because Akaashi knows he can get away with it. 

“What are we doing here?” The question is slurred, punctuated with Bokuto’s confused pout. 

Akaashi turns the water on, setting it to a lukewarm and setting the plug in the drain. “You’re too warm, Kou. I’ve got to cool you down.”

Bokuto shivers, “Not hot,” he says, “cold.”

Akaashi hums, kneeling in front of Bokuto while the tub fills. “It’s just the fever.”

Bokuto is staring at him, eyes blown out and golden. Akaashi swallows, thinking how beautiful Bokuto really is, still and loose under Akaashi’s hands. He wants to feel this, wants to see this, under different circumstances. He wants Bokuto to be his, to let Akaashi handle him with soft hands and light instructions, when there isn’t a fever hanging over both their heads.

“You’re so nice, Keiji.” Bokuto moves a hand unsteadily to rest on Akaashi’s cheek, his thumb swiping across the top of Akaashi’s cheekbone. 

Akaashi stills, frozen. The bathwater is nearing the top of the tub but Akaashi can’t move. He wets his lips and Bokuto’s eyes follow the motion. “Beautiful,” he says, “my beautiful Keiji.”

Akaashi blushes, and Bokuto smiles dopily, stealing every last beat of Akaashi’s heart. Bokuto’s delirious, he’s not aware of what he’s saying, Akaashi reminds himself. It doesn’t stop his heart from thumping, nor his cheeks from flaming, but it does allow Akaashi to step away and turn off the water. He files that confession for thinking about later, after Bokuto’s got his mind back and remembers that they’re just friends, best friends, but still friends. 

Akaashi strips Bokuto of his clothes, wrinkling his nose at how damp they are with sweat. He’ll have to grab something out of Bokuto’s bag after. Bokuto is a mass of marble in front of him, skin pale and pure, not marked by imperfections. Akaashi stops shy of Bokuto’s boxers, and lifts him into the tub. He watches the water lap at Bokuto’s skin, sees it shine against lean muscle and tendons. Bokuto lets his head fall back and Akaashi eyes the swath of pale skin there, the vulnerable neck. He wants to put his mouth there, wants to taste the salt of Bokuto’s sweat and smell him, the clean skin, the remnants of his deodorant and cologne. Akaashi swallows and bows his head. Bokuto had called him beautiful, but if Akaashi had to choose, Bokuto is the beautiful one. 

While the bath is mostly to reduce Bokuto’s fever, Akaashi figures he might as well get him clean. He walks back into the room, unzipping Bokuto’s duffle bag to grab a clean pair of sweats and a soft grey t-shirt. He fiddles until his hands catch the plastic ziplock that Bokuto keeps his toiletries in. Pear shampoo, conditioner, and a neutral body wash. 

Upon returning to the bath, Bokuto’s eyes are closed, but he’s awake. Akaashi can tell by the way he’s sitting, muscles strained to keep him upright. 

Akaashi sets the clothes on one of the benches by the showers and rolls up his own sleeves. He kneels by the tub and cups a handful of water to pour over Bokuto’s hair. 

Bokuto hums, but doesn’t stop him, so Akaashi repeats the process until Bokuto’s hair is damp. He squeezes out a quarter-sized dollop of shampoo, bringing it to a lather in his hands, before bringing them to Bokuto’s scalp. He massages the shampoo in the light grey strands, careful not to tug or tangle. Bokuto goes limp under his hands, humming happily the whole time.  He taps Bokuto’s shoulder when he’s done, “Do you think you can sit up for me so I can rinse it out?”

Bokuto sits up slowly and Akaashi rests a hand on his back to balance him. The muscle beneath his palm twitches. Once he’s sure Bokuto is steady, Akaashi places a hand over Bokuto’s eyes and brings water over to the top of Bokuto’s head. “Head back,” he orders, letting the water fall down Bokuto’s back and back into the bath. He repeats this with the conditioner, massaging Bokuto’s scalp, then rinsing it out. The wrinkles around Bokuto’s eyes are gone, his jaw less clenched. 

He’s not sure how to go about scrubbing Bokuto down from the side of the tub. He can get his back and shoulders, but Akaashi doesn’t want to make Bokuto stand, and he’s sure he won’t be able to hold him with one arm and lather him with the other. 

The water is just barely warm when Akaashi steps in. He’s still in his boxers and t-shirt, even now he wants to preserve as many boundaries as possible. He grabs the body wash and dumps a little into his hand. “Can you turn around?” 

Bokuto’s back is damp against Akaashi’s chest, and he runs his hands down the man’s shoulders and back, pressing his thumbs into the knots above Bokuto’s ass. Bokuto groans and Akaashi continues until the muscle there is loose. He washes it off.

“Turn,” Akaashi says. Bokuto does, his knees knocking against Akaashi’s own. His skin burns at the contact, but he distracts himself by grabbing more body wash. Bokuto watches him as he lathers down his front, quiet and reflective. Akaashi taps a knee, “Leg please.” 

He scrubs down to Bokuto’s toes and in between them. When he’s completely clean he stands, pulling Bokuto up by his hands. Bokuto hums, presses his wet front to Akaashi’s, soaking his t-shirt even more than it already was. 

The towel is warm and fluffy when he wraps it around Bokuto, engulfing his shoulders. Bokuto’s head peeks out, his nose a little red and his eyes shining. “How do you feel?” Akaashi asks, well aware that Bokuto is a little more lucid and has been for a while.

“Mpmf, tired,” Bokuto says. 

He wipes the towel through Bokuto’s hair, across his shoulders and down his back. When he returns in front of Bokuto, he reaches out and pushes the wet strands back, letting his fingers linger in the hairline for longer than necessary. He’s flirting across a line, skimming a hot pan, expecting to get burned. 

Akaashi swallows against the lump in his throat and pulls back, turning away to grab his own towel. “You ready to go back?” 

“Yeah.”

He freshens up the futon as Bokuto changes into the clothes he’d given him. He’s put on a new pillow cover three times when Bokuto kneels by him, setting warm hands over his own. He pulls them back not soon after, resting backward to sit. 

“Keiji?”

Akaashi hums, nervous. The storm has begun to dwindle, the rain not as monstrous. 

“Can I touch you?”

He whips his head up at that, scared. Bokuto’s head is tilted, waiting. Bokuto has never asked Akaashi if he could touch, he just did. Did Akaashi do something? Was the bath too much? Did he reach too far? “Yes,” he answers, voice strained. 

Bokuto cups Akaashi’s cheeks, presses his foreheads together. Up close, Bokuto's eyes are golden, warm, just a little bit of brown seeping out from his pupil. His eyelashes are damp from the bath, making his eyes look almost lined. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Akaashi screws his eyes shut, bracing for pain. He can’t hear this, isn’t supposed to. How can he sit here and take these kinds of feelings, when Bokuto isn’t well? “I’m not.”

“You are!” Bokuto says. “Would you look at me?”

Akaashi doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to see the look on Bokuto’s face. He’s never going to be able to forget it, and, like a mirage, he’s never going to be able to get it again. “Bokuto, please,” he begs. 

Bokuto clucks his tongue, rubs his thumb across Akaashi’s cheekbone. “Just look at me.”

Akaashi does. 

“I like you Keiji. I’ve liked you for a while but I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid. Afraid to ruin our friendship, afraid to ruin how comfortable you are around me. I thought that I could take it, that I could be satisfied with what I had. But I want you...and I think you may want me too.”

It’s everything Akaashi has ever wanted. All the words he’s thought and not expressed. It wounds something inside him, makes blood fill up his sternum, swirl with pain and sorrow like an arrow to the chest. He’s crying now, his cheeks wet. Bokuto just brushes them aside. 

“You’re not going to remember this,” Akaashi whispers, pressing into Bokuto, trying to soak this in while he can. Before he’ll have to try to forget it. “You’re delirious,” Akaashi pleads, even though Bokuto’s eyes are clear, warm and staring right into him. Seeing him, connecting. Like a sun showing a planet where to orbit, like gravity. It’s there. 

Bokuto shakes his head, “I’m not going to forget.”

“You will,” Akaashi says, “You’re sick.”

“I’m better. You took care of me, like you always do.”

Akaashi sniffles wetly. Akaashi has never known how to take care of Bokuto, has never known how to completely soothe the sting. He’s only ever tried, only ever wanted to press his own good feelings right into Bokuto’s veins. “You’re going to forget this, Bokuto, and I will never be able to unhear it.”

Akaashi moves his hands to grip at Bokuto’s arms, feels the steady muscle there, the lack of heat. The skin is warm but not hot, feverish but not too high. “Just believe me for tonight, yeah?”

Akaashi nods, falling desperately. Clawing at his old self control and not being able to keep hold of it. “You’re wrong,” he says, after a few moments, “I don’t know how to take care of you. I’ve been guessing all day.”

“I think you did just fine.”

“You were unconscious for most of it,” Akaashi points out. Unconscious and too warm, because Akaashi could never keep a good enough eye on him. 

Bokuto hums, “Yes, but I remember you being there, every time I needed you.”

Akaashi smiles, softly, “I’m going to let you down.”

Bokuto shakes his head, “I know, but that’s just how relationships work. I’m going to let you down too. But we’ll get through it Keiji, like we always have.”

They shuffle down to lay together on the futon, after Bokuto prods at Keiji to change into some dry clothes. The futon is warm, insulated and circulating Bokuto’s high body temperature. Akaashi can’t bring himself to mind, pressing himself into Bokuoto’s front, letting his head rest on the crook of his captain’s neck. He falls asleep listening to Bokuto’s breathing and the light rain outside, wrapped in arms he never thought would hold him this way. 

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just wouldn't get out of my head. I don't usually write pieces this long but this one kinda wrote itself. I really hope you enjoy it. Even though Akaashi and Bokuto don't have a lot of screen time in the anime, I really like their dynamic. I hope I did it justice. If you enjoyed this and want to see more fics like this please leave a kudos or a comment!
> 
> Love,  
> C


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